Oof.

It's official. The Pace of My Life is a Too Hectic and I need to simmer down and drink a lot of green tea while reading books quietly in my flat.

I'm moving in too high a gear these days, lots of too revved stuff happening. Went out with my friend S last night and we drank our faces off. I'm not really sure why we thought lakes of wine and three tequila shots were necessary for the flow of our always textured, weaving and cracking-each-other-up conversation, but somehow it made a grammar to the words, and next thing you know it was 3:30 a.m. and I was putting myself to bed in her spare room. Not a pretty picture this morning at ALL.

I think the shape of my life gets stretched out too easily when I'm more-or-less-single, like a hoodie with elbow puckers and a zipper that doesn't quite meet any more. I think I'm not always good at just Staying Home Quietly when I'm not working or when there's no one else here to just provide drifty, semi-engaged companionship. One of the things I haven't learned well about living alone, yet.

But... this whacking great hangover is a Warning Sign that I'm pushing myself hard in not particularly healthy ways -- like the little scrape to my car, yesterday, where I backed into a pole in my parking garage because I was trying to do too many things at once (take my busted ibook in to the geekboys to see if they could fish out any data from the hard drive I apparently fried in the blink of an eye on Thursday, talk to D who was in the car with me). Good thing the smart car is made of plastic.

Tonight it's warm time with five friends who are coming for dinner, and I'm actually *cooking* -- the weather is cooperating with rain and chill that makes it appealing to turn the oven on -- and then I will keep the rest of the week, between here and the west coast, completely empty of frantic activity. Pace myself calmly through a paper, lots of tea, a bit of client work, looking ahead quietly. Yoga. Prana. Quiet.